


On the Concept of Conception

by Zapino



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bottom Draco, Community: harrydracompreg, Light-Hearted, M/M, Mpreg, Smut, Top Harry Potter, fest submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 15:05:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7537462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zapino/pseuds/Zapino
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On her first day on the job, a Stork happens upon two wizards having delicious angry office sex, and she makes a huge mistake: the first of its kind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Concept of Conception

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
> 
>  **Notes:** Submission to the mpreg fest 2016! All the love to A, my wonderful superwoman of a beta. Thank you so much for helping me get through this one, I couldn’t have done it without you  <3 I immediately fell for this prompt, so I hope I did it justice, even if I spun away with it a bit, and that the prompter will be happy with this little piece! I think I avoided any teeth-rotting fluffiness, but I must say it’s an effort to keep fluff and OOC-ness from an mpreg, so what little is left, you’ll just have to live with ;) Now, it turned out way longer than I first planned and thought, but that’s because I just can’t ever shut up. Kinda like Draco. I hope you enjoy your fic, ladyofsd!

–O–

 

Gliding low over the tall buildings of downtown London, a grand, black and white bird tilted her wings into the wind and leaned into a wide turn. Her pace was leisurely in the slowly darkening afternoon, yet one could tell she wasn’t dawdling. This bird was on a mission and her keen eyes scanned the rooftops, looking for a suitable pair that needed her help. She was a creature which transcended realms, and as such, both the Muggle and the Wizarding districts were clearly visible from her vantage point above them.

It was a special day for this Stork. She had just recently earned her place in the ranks of those who carried out the honourable task of making sure that humans, who for one reason or another were unable to carry children, would conceive.

It didn’t always work. Sometimes it just wasn’t meant to be. But when it did, few of the subjects were even aware of the fact that they’d had any issue at all, since the Storks were quick and thorough when sent out to carry out their duty.

Not that any modern day human, Muggle or Wizarding folk alike, would guess that the reason behind their conception was the result of magical intervention by an animal with mythical capabilities. In fact, during the past century or so, the folklore of old had lifted to a quite light-hearted take on the results of frivolous activities. The story of how the Stork handed out babies still worked for adults who, when faced with curious children, wanted an easy way out of _that_ conversation.

There were, of course, factual errors in the tales of how Storks worked. Contrary to what lore said, they didn’t come flying in with human babies hanging from their beaks, as often depicted on well-wishing postcards. That would have been a rather silly sight, not to speak of the precariousness of flying with a wobbly swaddle of several pounds dangling off one’s face. And there were no capped hats as far as the eye could see, thank you very much.

But if mythology and cartoonish drawings was all there was to it, that suited the Storks just fine – they just wanted to go about the job that had been entrusted in them without interference.

As the Stork soared through the air, she was on high-alert for any indication of humans in need of her aid. She’d been taught by her elders to keep her senses focused on looking for that special hum of energy. It was felt as a gentle vibration in the air around her aerodynamic body, rippling through the atmosphere like heat rising from asphalt under a scorching sun.

And there it was, just as she passed over the east wing of the biggest Wizarding building in the business district. If Storks could smile, ours would have, but as it was, she felt a thrill of excitement and quickly angled her body to drop further down. When she was level with the building, she started to fly alongside it, scanning the rooms as she flew past in search of the signature she’d felt.

She finally found it on the second level, and as she flapped her large wings to settle on the window sill next to where the hum was as its strongest, she peer down at the street below her. Hopefully, no one would notice her presence before she was done and she’d be able to take off again without interference. Satisfied that all of the humans below her were busy going about their day, the Stork finally turned to look inside the window.

The Stork was a graceful bird, and she prided herself in the job she’d been destined to carry out. Of course, she might be young, but she knew the basics of what went in to this sort of thing. She’d been to her classes, after all. One human bred the other, then the Stork did her thing, and nine months later, there was childbirth, if all went well. She liked to believe that not much in this world could throw her off balance.

Maybe she would have to re-evaluate, the Stork pondered while staring at the two humans going at it in the office on the other side of the glass. And go at it they did, indeed. If it had been at all possible, the Stork would have blushed.

Shaking her wings to resettle her feathers, the Stork looked away, having a glance around the area. Could she have misread the vibrations she’d felt? It was a busy district with many humans milling about, after all.

But the longer she sat there, the more powerful the feeling grew, until there really was no question that it was coming from the room just beyond the window she was pressed up against. Turning back to look inside again, the Stork tilted her head curiously.

She’d been told to expect one human of each sex; one male and one female. As far as the Stork could tell, the pair passionately interlocked in the office inside were both male. None of the elders had ever mentioned the possibility of picking up a signature from same sex couples and, as far as logic went, the Stork was pretty sure no male member of her own species had ever laid an egg.

Yet, there was no mistaking the thrum of energy moving in rippling waves from the humans inside. If Storks could scratch their head, this one would have, as she mulled over her options. There was, of course, the possibility that she had misinterpreted her instructions.

A yelp carried through the glass and the Stork jumped a little in surprise, staring in rapt fascination. My, were these two vehement! The Stork found the gusto of their coupling rather admirable. It looked almost violent with all that hair-pulling, and going by the sounds emanating from them, it could have very well been thought of that way.

But then the human on top, the one bent forward over the back of the other, let go of the other’s hair to gently turn his head around by his jaw, and the one on the bottom craned his neck around to look at the one mounting him. And then they were kissing. At least, it looked like what the Stork had been told was an act called “kissing” – something humans liked doing, apparently.

As the Stork kept watching in interest, the kiss that passed between them was one that couldn’t be misread in its passion, and the Stork made her decision.

With a shiver that began at her head and rippled through her body like a wave, the Stork gathered her magic out onto her smooth feathers and shook it off much like water droplets. A shimmer enveloped her and spread in all directions in a puff of golden dust that slowly faded away when the ripple has passed all the way to the tip of her tail feathers. As she settled again, she glanced at the pair inside once more, feeling the correct responding magical signature reflected back at her.

Her first mission was a success! The Stork stretched her neck in pride. And two males, as well! All her friends would be so jealous when she told them.

Spreading her large wings and flapping them to catch a lifting air current, the Stork took off from her perch just as the humans inside reached their climax. A nice, plump fish or two was in order, the Stork thought as she lifted above the tall buildings around her and headed east for the ocean front, leaving one now very pregnant human and his partner, and a job well done, behind.

 

\--o--

 

There were moments in Harry’s life when the events playing out around him felt like they were happening to someone else.

Usually, these moments were of a perilous nature, when the danger of the situation made adrenaline pump through his veins to the point where it acted close to the effects of too much alcohol, or a drug, making him feel detached and numb as he fought for his survival. It was an odd feeling – almost like an out-of-body experience. Though, not like the quite literal one he’d had, spending a good few moments in a hazy limbo conversing with Dumbledore while being, for all intents and purposes, actually dead. These moments left him feeling more like he was bereft of control over his own body, as if he was being pushed aside to hand over the controls to someone else entirely.

There were, of course, the times when he’d stood wand to wand with Voldemort. There was nothing that would bring a bloke into a state of detachment like being faced with the very real potential for death at any moment.

Aside from those, though, there were times when that same sensation set in during situations of other great peril.

One such moment happened when Harry was eight years old and was nearly hit in the head by a tattered old football which landed in one of Aunt Petunia’s flowerbeds while he was weeding. After his initial jump of surprise, Harry had sat up to squint his eyes against the sun and peer at the top of the divider separating the backyard neighbouring the Dursley’s. He’d figured it shouldn’t be too difficult to lob it back over to the kids he could hear bemoaning their loss on the other side.

So with a quick glance at the house to make sure Aunt Petunia wasn’t looking, he’d quickly stood while picking up the ball and measured a kick like he’d seen Dudley do playing football with his mates. Only, it hadn’t arched over the fence like he’d planned. Instead, it went careening off to the side, towards the house, and Harry had stood frozen in place as the ball crashed right through the window and disappeared into the shadowed kitchen beyond. He’d been convinced that Aunt Petunia was going to kill him then. She didn’t, but he remembered being locked inside the cupboard for a long time after she was done screaming and shaking him by his arms. He had yet to touch a football since.

Another one of those moments was when he was being chased by the Hungarian Horntail. Some sort of autopilot took over his limbs that day, and Harry had not been able to remember much of it after. Most of what he knew about it was through what his friends told him.

And then there was the time when Ginny and he had sex for the first – and last – time. Not that one would think sex was dangerous, but it was a situation of certain delicacy, especially when the girl involved had six older brothers.

It happened during the period where everyone was trying to pick their lives back up again after the war, meaning that Harry and Ginny were doing the same thing with their halted relationship. The autopilot had kicked in then too.

What had set it off was the look of utter disinterest in Ginny’s eyes as she’d stared into the wall rather than at Harry as he continued to move in careful, rocking motions on top of her. Ever the gentleman, he’d figured that even if he wasn’t very excited about the event either, the least he could do was try to see them through to help avoid making an awkward situation unbearable.

It didn’t.

Help, that is.

Neither of them came, either. Because once he’d stopped to think about what he was actually doing and with whom, Harry had deflated embarrassingly fast. In short, that had also been the moment when Harry realized that he was definitely, irreversibly gay.

During Ginny’s quick and efficient redressing, the sad little smile on her face somehow said she was rather relieved to have it over with, too, and Harry hadn’t been able to find it within himself to do more than give a little wave from where he was still sitting in the rumpled bedding when he heard the Floo in his sitting room announce her departure.

And then there was the present situation, as in right then and there, when Harry once again found himself feeling rather like he was watching the proceedings from afar. The only thing keeping him grounded enough to know he wasn’t actually in his bed, asleep and dreaming, was the sensation of touch. So touch he did.

Gripping a shoulder covered in a crisp, white shirt, Harry curled his fingertips into the flesh underneath, feeling them dig into the dip above a defined collarbone. He pumped his hips, chewing his lip as he felt a drop of perspiration trickle down his temple. His other hand twisted into the white blond strands that bounced and bobbed rhythmically in front of him.

The growl that rose from the panting body bent over the desk in front of him made Harry’s lips lift at the corners.

“Watch the hair, Potter!”

Harry gave it a sharp tug, making Malfoy gasp and arch his neck. The almost imperceptible whimper that followed made Harry’s smile widen smugly as he sped up his hips. “I thought I told you to shut it, Malfoy,” he hissed, even though he’d set a Silencing charm on the door himself after they’d entered the empty office not that long ago.

Malfoy grunted and clenched his angular jaw. Harry was left a bit bewildered at the lack of a snarky comeback. Who knew; maybe he’d finally found a way to make the bastard shut up? It had only taken two months, which was an impressive length of time for them to keep from hexing each other, since they worked at the same department.

Harry had just been promoted to Senior Auror, having done outstanding work for three whole years, when Malfoy had suddenly shown up at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement as one of the newly graduated recruits. Neither Harry nor any of his friends had known Malfoy had even been in training. Oddly enough, not the tiniest whisper about him even being in the country had surfaced.

After the war, the gossip mill of the Wizarding community had been mostly devoid of anything to share about the Malfoy’s situation. Word had it that Narcissa Malfoy had taken up residence in Monte Carlo after the trials had been settled, and that Draco had gone with her. The papers had tried to get a hold of them for a comment, but had been unable to achieve clearance to search them out within Monaco’s borders. The Malfoys had dual citizenship, which kept them protected under much stricter laws than the British on the personal integrity of the often affluent residents of the Rivieran microstate.

As such, public interest diminished, until there was barely a thought spared for them any longer. For the past two years, it seemed that the Malfoys had more or less faded from society’s collective memory. The only mention of the family name since their disappearance had been a tiny note in the Prophet a few months after the trials, simply stating that Lucius Malfoy had been found dead in his cell in Azkaban. There had been a total of three, cursorily worded sentences, including the headline, and that was all there was to it.

Until Draco Malfoy appeared at the department that one morning, apparently a redeemed man and ready to work for the good side for once. Harry hadn’t bought it for one second.

But, since he valued his job and the esteem he’d built among his colleagues, not to mention his boss, there wasn’t much else to do than accept the fact that Malfoy and he would be seeing a lot more of each other from then on.

Well, tolerate, was more like it. Acceptance meant that he’d have to acknowledge that they were even in the same building.

In the weeks that followed Malfoy’s arrival, Harry had really tried his best to stay as far away from the git as possible to keep the peace. But all it had taken was for Malfoy to make one off-hand comment in the lunch queue loud enough for Harry to hear him from his spot five people down, saying that the only reason Harry had been made Auror was because he just wouldn’t die, not because he’d earned it, and they were off.

Muttered name-calling turned into spat insults, which turned into shouted name-calling, which turned into quite real threats of physical violence – all in the span of a few weeks. The two could be found in heated arguments so often there was an unofficial betting pool set up at the Department as to date and time when they’d end up putting each other in St. Mungo’s.

Then came the day when Malfoy had arrested a suspect for a minor restricted spell offense; a suspect whom Harry had been chasing for months while carefully building a case that would bring down an entire illegal potions syndicate.

Malfoy had ruined all his hard work in mere minutes, setting off alarm bells for the suspect and probably making him vanish under ground the second he stepped out of the Ministry with only a stern telling-off and a note in his records.

One of the department secretaries told Harry what had happened on her way out the door as he finally returned to his office late that very afternoon, hungry and tired after a long couple of days on a stake out. It had been a miracle that nothing had exploded right then, really. Except Harry’s temper. 

A shouted “ _What_?!” had been the only warning anyone got before Harry had stomped into the nearly empty main office positively fuming, rounding the cubicles with determination. His chin titled low and a scowl on his lips, Harry had marched right up to Malfoy’s cubicle, spun his chair around and grabbed hold of his robes with both hands to yank him forward and almost out of his chair.

“What do you think you’re doing, ruining my investigation, you inbred twat?!” Harry had bellowed. Malfoy had seemed startled, so Harry had continued. “My suspect, Malfoy! You’ve just thrown hundreds of hours of work for me and my team down the drain with a restricted spell offense!”

After only a moment of further hesitation, Malfoy’s sharp features had twisted into a haughty sneer. “ _My_ suspect broke the law, so I apprehended him. It’s really quite simple. Surely you’re not as dim as you look, Potter?” Malfoy had lifted his hands to pry Harry’s off, pulling at his wrists. “Unhand me! I’m reporting you to Robards first thing in the morning.”

Tightening his fists in the material, Harry’s anger had risen to a boiling point. So Malfoy had known exactly what he was doing, the bastard.

Distantly hearing himself growl, Harry had jerked Malfoy even closer to snarl in his face. “I don’t care! You’ll be the one answering to Robards tomorrow! Stay out of my cases. You’d do well to remember that all it takes is one word from me and you’ll meet a similar fate to that of your _dear old daddy_.”

Watching all the colour drain from Malfoy’s face, he’d shoved him back, making the wheeled chair rattle and jump at the force and turn Malfoy into a little spin.

As Harry had turned to quickly walk away before he really socked the prat, Malfoy had upped and followed in hot pursuit. “Was that a threat?” he’d gasped dramatically, as if he’d never come across something so horrible before.

Harry had tried his best to ignore him as he quickened his steps, hearing Malfoy continue just a few paces behind him.

“Did you hear that, everyone?!” Malfoy had lifted his voice to address the only two other Aurors working over-time, who’d cleverly ducked behind their cubicle walls when Harry first strode in. “The magnificent Potter threatened me!” He’d then followed Harry out into the corridor and right on into Harry’s office without pause, spitting insults and promises of retribution the entire way.

At that point, Harry still hadn’t said a word or even looked at him; only curled his hands into tight fists and clenched his jaw hard. He’d been able to feel his magic simmering dangerously just underneath his skin, and it had taken every ounce of his restraint not to unleash it in a blast that would knock out everything within a twenty feet perimeter. But then that idea had been starting to look all the more appealing, the more Malfoy prattled on.

As it was, Harry had decided that the probability of his own suspension from work was higher if he rendered Malfoy unconscious, so he held off, if barely. But the sound of Malfoy’s annoying, slightly nasal voice and his brattish upper class accent was starting to drive him mad, having heard enough of it in the past months already.

Looking back, it had been his uncontrollable irritation at being forced to listen to Malfoy speak even one moment longer that made him snap, even if it had turned out to be in a quite unpredictable way.

“Would you shut up, already!” Harry had shouted as he’d spun on his heel.

But not even when he’d thrown the door closed behind Malfoy and taken hold of his pale, bony wrists to slam him back against it, pinning them next to his head, did the infuriating, self-centred, narcissistic arse stop talking.

“Let me go, you imbecile!”

Merlin, why couldn’t he just _stop talking_?

“You might be Shacklebolt’s favourite little pet, but you won’t get away with making threats to my person; I’ll see to th– _mmph_!”

And just like that, Malfoy hadn’t been unable to say much more, since Harry had suddenly pressed his mouth against Malfoy’s in a hard, punishing kiss. If one could’ve called it a kiss at all, with their teeth clashing painfully before both had frozen in their spots, the shock written on Malfoy’s face probably reflected in Harry’s own.

That hadn’t been what he’d meant to do at all…

Yet, Harry had been unable to figure out what he’d actually meant to do, since he had been occupied with seeing Malfoy staring back at him from much too close, with a question screaming at him through horrified, steel grey eyes, and hadn’t then been a strange time to notice Malfoy’s eye-colour? Or maybe not, considering neither of them had pulled away after several seconds of uncomfortable lip lock.

Realizing this, Harry had leaned back, drawing a quick breath in order to make whatever excuses he would’ve been able to think up on the spot, only to gasp when Malfoy had lunged forward to kiss him again, only this time in a much more controlled and deliberate manner.

As Malfoy had let his eyes drift shut, Harry had moaned. It had been difficult to tell if it was out of surprise or in reaction to the way Malfoy’s tongue had quickly found its way in between his lips and into his mouth. Either way, Malfoy gave a responding moan and that had been all Harry could do before pressing the blond a little bit harder into the door and taking charge of the kiss.

Everything had been more or less a blur after that, with robes pushed halfway off shoulders and trousers unbuttoned and haphazardly shoved out of the way, and stumbling steps towards the nearest horizontal surface other than the floor.

And so, there Harry stood, repeatedly pumping his cock in and out of a surprisingly willing Draco Malfoy, once again feeling a bit as if he was floating above it all in one of those strange, numb moments.

“Come on, Potter. Fuck me,” Malfoy demanded through clenched teeth, canting his hips in tantalizing invitation. Harry’s mouth watered a little at the sight and feel.

“What do you think I’m doing; airing the carpets?” he huffed, half in annoyance, half in exertion. Perhaps he’d been wrong; perhaps Malfoy would just never stop talking.

“One could wonder…” Malfoy trailed off before letting out a little yelp when Harry did as told and increased the power of his thrusts. Sweat was starting to trickle down his back, considering he was still mostly dressed.

“Bossy,” Harry muttered, only a little bit annoyed that even while speared on a thick (if he did say so himself) cock, Malfoy would find it difficult to let someone else dictate any aspect of how things were to be done.

“Yessss…” Malfoy hissed in what could have been a reply just as easily as a response to the rough treatment of Harry tugging his hair while fucking him as hard as he had ever dared go. So far, though, angry sex turned out to have its merits.

Of course Malfoy would like it rough. It sort of came with the whole manner in which he carried himself. One could tell with people like Malfoy that they weren’t ones for gentle love-making or whispered sweet nothings. Not that Harry would ever want to do either of those things as far as Malfoy was involved. It was just a strangely satisfying thing to see expectations confirmed.

But right then was not the time to consider why there’d be any expectations about Malfoy at all. Not when he was pressing back against Harry’s hips and leaning further back into his hand, silently urging him to pull more heavily on his silken hair. Harry did, almost feeling a bit sorry for Malfoy’s scalp, until Malfoy cried out and tilted his head slightly more to the side. 

Heat lapped through his body, and Harry was unable to resist leaning in over his back to mouth at the side of Malfoy’s flushed neck, bared in subtle invitation.

“You really like this, don’t you?” he rasped against Malfoy’s warm skin, an answering little mewl escaping the throat beneath his lips and belying the demanding tone of Malfoy’s earlier words. “You love being at the complete mercy of someone who’ll hold you down and make you take it, isn’t that right, Malfoy?”

Harry noticed the pulse under his lip grow faster in a spot just below Malfoy’s jaw. He’d never spoken like that before, and his mind rushed at hearing himself say it. He wasn’t normally someone who got off on rough sex, though it was quickly turning out that things were different where Malfoy was concerned. Everything was _always_ different where Malfoy was concerned. 

He listened to Malfoy’s panting breath, tugging his blond head a bit more to the side to suck biting kisses into his feverish skin and eliciting more noises of approval. Harry’s shirt was sticking to his perspiring back underneath his robes, and everything felt stuffy and overbearingly hot. Stopping or pausing to remove more clothing, however, wasn’t a priority right then.

In this new position, with Harry leaning heavily on top of Malfoy, the hot flesh surrounding his length squeezed him in delicious little pulses as Malfoy’s efforts to meet his thrusts made his muscles tighten just a fraction with each and every push Harry made back inside. It was as if his hole wasn’t really sure whether Harry’s cock should be allowed the rough re-entry or not, but powerless to keep him out.

Harry moaned long and low in his throat, unable to deny that this was some of the most brilliant sex he’d ever had, despite the person it was with. The floaty sensation hadn’t really left him yet, and it came to the forefront of his mind once more when he allowed himself to actually consider what he was doing: he was fucking Draco Malfoy over the desk his office. And Draco Malfoy was loving every second of it. Harry’s head swam.

They were adults now and should be able to handle things maturely, but of course, being who they were, they still hated each other with as much passion as they had for all those years when they happened to attend Hogwarts at the same time. Whether they liked it or not, they were also both guilty of almost killing each other, and likewise of saving each other’s lives. And right then, it would seem that having amazing sex was to be added to the list of things they had done to, or rather with, each other, and yet they had barely ever had an actual conversation like normal people.

Harry watched as one of Malfoy’s hands reached across the polished surface of his desk to grab onto the edge, his other worming its way down his body. Malfoy’s hips lifted a little more, and he grunted with the effort of reaching for himself while being pressed onto the unforgiving wood by their combined weight and Harry’s thrusts.

Without allowing himself to think about why he would even care about Malfoy’s pleasure at all, Harry followed suit and soon had his own hand wrapped around Malfoy’s, pumping his leaking cock in time with the movement of their hips.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Malfoy whined, his breath coming in short little puffs every time Harry thrust forward, the air being pressed out of his lungs. Harry lifted his head from Malfoy’s neck and could see him squeezing his eyes shut.

“I am,” he commented, his breathing just as laboured as Malfoy’s. He would have smirked at his own joke, if he hadn’t been preoccupied watching his breath ruffle the hair that was partly glued to the nape of Malfoy’s neck, darkened by sweat. He licked his lips.

Slowly turning Malfoy’s head further towards him, Harry released his hair and quickly caught him underneath his jaw instead to keep him from bumping his head on the desk. Grey eyes blinked open and met Harry’s as Malfoy looked back at him over his shoulder. A beat passed, and then Malfoy’s eyelids fluttered while he gave a tiny little moan at Harry’s next thrust. 

Unable to stop his own responding moan, as if making the noise in sympathy, Harry leaned in and caught Malfoy’s slack, open lips in another kiss. This one wasn’t nearly as violent as the one they’d shared before he’d bent Malfoy over the desk, but it had just as much tongue, was just as enthusiastic, and was maybe even twice as hot.

Losing himself in the pleasure of a pair of smooth, pliant lips and a willing body undulating beneath his own, Harry began lifting up on his tippy-toes with each movement forward, trying to drive himself further up to make his cock plunge inside Malfoy at a different, higher angle. Malfoy’s short, keening noises were muffled against Harry’s lips and swallowed up by his own grunts of effort, and Harry let go of his grip on Malfoy’s cock when the hand under his became a blur of movement.

A violent shiver suddenly caught Harry’s body, rushing across his skin and lifting every tiny hair on its way, as if a window had suddenly blown open. He felt Malfoy tremble as well, even though both of them were beyond warm, even halfway out of their heavy uniforms. The shiver wasn’t necessarily cold, though, and an instinctual check of the wards of his office told him they were intact, ruling out the possibility of a draft. A prickling sensation followed, and it rolled over his flesh like the careful caress of a dozen soft hands, strange and comforting and incredibly arousing all at the same time. The feeling made the shards of pleasure cut sharper through his pelvis and every touch of Malfoy’s skin against his made his body hum. His balls drew up tighter against his body, and Harry was quickly pulled mercilessly towards a finish unlike any he’d had before. 

It made him want to smile, and the rational part of his mind (what little of it remained after that evening’s line of irrational decisions) wondered if maybe Malfoy had slipped him some kind of potion or cast a spell without him noticing. The suspicion wasn’t that far-fetched at all, and once he was done having what promised to be one hell of a mind-blowing orgasm, Harry promised himself that he would consider the possibility more carefully.

Drawing him out of his thoughts at the moment, though, were the increasingly desperate noises Malfoy was making against Harry’s lips, and just as suddenly as the shiver had caught them, Malfoy’s body seized up and abruptly stopped moving underneath his.

Harry broke their kiss just as Malfoy let out a harsh gasp, his eyes once more tightly closed as Harry leaned back to stare at him as he began to shake. It looked almost like he was in pain, and he was holding his breath with his mouth opened on a silent cry. The muscles surrounding Harry’s length had clamped down hard, holding tightly for just a beat longer before a shuddering moan was practically ripped from Malfoy’s throat. The pressure on Harry’s cock relented only to become rhythmic, fluttering clenches around him, and he lowered Malfoy’s head to the desk as carefully as he could as Malfoy’s body shuddered with every wave of his orgasm.

Harry tried his best to keep moving, to fuck Malfoy through it. Though, much too soon, the stimulation became too much, and while Malfoy began relaxing, his body leaning heavily against the desk, Harry felt himself reach his peak. His pleasure rose from somewhere deep, crested, and rushed through his body and out of his achingly hard cock in ripples of pure fire.

He groaned loudly when he felt himself twitch deep inside Malfoy’s heat. His hips curled forward as he slammed home against Malfoy’s skin in desperate, lingering thrusts, as if his body wanted to mark him somehow. With the last spurts of release, he gave one last feeble attempt to bury himself even deeper, the short, quick movement making Malfoy whimper.

The sound had Harry blink his eyes open, not having realized he’d closed them quite as tight as he had. With limbs beginning to shake from the strain and effort they’d just been put through, Harry slowly lifted his head from where he’d buried his face in the curve where Malfoy’s neck met his shoulder. His lips and chin felt damp, the moisture from his hot breath lingering after being trapped between his open mouth and Malfoy’s warm skin as he had gasped and moaned his completion.

He looked at Malfoy’s profile, so close underneath him, resting against the cool surface of the polished wood. His eyes were still closed, and from the way his face looked so completely relaxed and void of expression, Harry would have thought he was asleep if it wasn’t for the way his breath was still coming in harsh huffs of exertion through slightly open lips. Lingering over the sight for a moment more, Harry wondered when he’d seen Malfoy look so serene before. Or if he had at all.

Drawing a breath and opening his mouth, Harry readied himself to speak, though he caught himself just as he was about to.

Just what was he going to say? Did he have anything to say at all?

He was still buried to the hilt of his slowly softening cock inside Malfoy. _Malfoy_ , his mind repeated helpfully.

Suddenly, the prospect of speaking seemed more daunting than facing the darkest wizard of all time ever had.

His hesitancy made his breath catch in his throat on a soft choking sound. The noise acted like smelling salts on Malfoy’s slack body, and tension immediately caught his limbs as his eyes flew open. Harry stilled, holding his breath unconsciously as he waited. Would Malfoy start freaking out, or would he leave the office quickly and quietly, unwilling to acknowledge what they’d just done?

Harry wasn’t sure which option he preferred.

The office was flooded with pinkish light from the setting sun outside, and Harry watched Malfoy stare out into the room, seemingly without looking.

“I hope he enjoyed the show,” Malfoy suddenly said, his voice a bit rough.

Harry blinked. “Who?”

Malfoy nudged his head toward the window on the other side of the room, making Harry follow his line of sight. “The great big pervert of a bird that just watched us shag.”

Looking back down at Malfoy’s profile, Harry frowned in confusion. Was he on some sort of hallucinatory drug? Maybe that was the sole reason for their current position. Or maybe he’d gone off the deep end. The thought made Harry feel oddly cheated, if he was being honest.

Carefully pulling his hand out from underneath Malfoy’s cheek and placing it on the desk to lift himself up slightly, Harry shook his head. “Malfoy, I don’t think–”

“If you’re about to question my sanity,” Malfoy cut in, “might I point out that you’re still bollocks deep inside your childhood enemy’s arse.”

Harry stopped short, opening and closing his mouth a few times before biting his jaw tightly closed. A rush of heat that had nothing to do with arousal bloomed across his cheeks. Malfoy had a point, and Harry hated it. His words reminded Harry of who they actually were to each other, waking him from the daze of arousal to have it be quickly replaced by regret.

Deciding to bring things back to some semblance of normality, and pulled out of Malfoy’s well-fucked arse quicker than strictly necessary, and the ire that rose in his chest made him relish in his hiss of pain. 

“Don’t flatter yourself, Malfoy,” he muttered, his mood turned suddenly darker. “If anyone was my enemy, it was Voldemort.” As he stood up and took a few steps back, his eyes dropped to Malfoy’s bare arse, the hint of his swollen rim hidden in the shadows between his cheeks, making his blood sing with triumph. “You were only ever an irritant.”

He didn’t bother buttoning his trousers as he turned to make his way to the Floo. He caught Malfoy moving out of the corner of his eye, pulling up his pants and quickly whirling around.

“Oh yeah? Well, _you_ don’t flatter yourself into thinking this actually meant an–”

The rest of Malfoy’s words were swallowed up by the roar of the Floo as Harry stepped through and into the blessed silence of his sitting room at 12 Grimmauld Place.

 

\--o--

 

Strangely enough, things seemed to calm down in the aftermath of what had happened.

Harry wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but it seemed that nothing about the events of that night had made it out of his office walls. Malfoy even stayed out of his way to the point where he only ever saw the billow of the back of his robes as he turned a corner, or disappeared into his cubicle. Not once did either of them acknowledge each other.

Maybe Malfoy was embarrassed, which suited Harry just fine. His own feelings of annoyance at both himself and Malfoy had mellowed significantly, to the point where he could almost say he didn’t care anymore. The “almost”, however, stemmed from the fact that his body seemed unable to let it go quite yet.

There had been mornings during the weeks that followed in which Harry woke to find his cock stiffer than the upper lips of the old aristocrats that funded large parts of the annual festivities that celebrated the end of the war. At first he’d been mortified to realize that the last wisps of his dreams on those mornings carried the sound of Malfoy shouting his release. Consequently, for the first time since his teenage years at Hogwarts, Harry had seen a fair few cold showers.

Though, that solution was only temporary and quite ineffective in the long run, not to mention unpleasant. So after the fifth morning of waking up hard as a rock and practically humping his bedding, Harry closed his eyes again and threw reason out the window as he reached down to wrap his hand around his leaking cock while imagining himself moving in and out of a tight yet eager hole.

What did it hurt if he gave in to the urge every once in awhile, anyway? It wasn’t like it’d ever lead to anything, or like Malfoy or anyone else would ever know. And if he closed his eyes tightly enough, Harry was able to replace soft, silken strands of blonde with any colour of his choosing, and make the profile in his mind’s eye morph into the cute, brown-eyed boy clearing tables at the Leaky on weekends, who always gave him shy smiles and side-long glances when he came by with a new round of pints for Harry and his friends.

His insistence worked according to plan, and when a month had passed since the event, Harry was happy to notice that he didn’t dream about it anymore. His wank fantasies weren’t filled with images he’d rather forget and his pulse no longer sped up when he happened to see Malfoy’s pale visage at work.

It would have all settled pretty nicely if he’d been able to ignore the git altogether, but since they were employed at the same Department, he was going to have to live with the occasional sighting. At least Malfoy seemed to make himself void as often as Harry wished to be left alone. If the idea hadn’t been ludicrous, he might have believed it to be planned that way.

That is, until one morning when Harry entered the bathroom and made his way over to the urinals lining one of the walls of the tiled room. Holding himself in hand, he relieved himself with a sigh and a roll of his shoulders.

The peace and quiet of the empty bathroom were a welcome break from the bustle of the Department just beyond. Everyone always complained about Monday mornings, but for some reason, Harry had always believed that Tuesdays were worse, and the current one had barely even started, yet was quickly proving his theory.

Finishing with a little shake, Harry tucked himself away as he walked over to wash his hands in the nearest sink. He was studying his features in the mirror briefly when a sudden muffled retching made him jump in surprise. It had come from the stalls behind him, and he quickly turned to face the only closed door in the row. He hadn’t paid attention to it when walking in, since the room had been quiet enough to appear empty before that.

Trying to calm his pulse after the initial scare, Harry heard another noise, this one definitely the sound of someone vomiting.

“Are you alright?” he called out, listening for movement from the closed stall. He leaned over to look through the little gap under the door, seeing the soles of a pair of shoes of someone kneeling on the floor in front of the toilet seat. “Hello? Do you need any help?”

Heavy breathing and the rustle of toilet paper reached his ears as he moved closer to the stall, and he straightened up when the person on the other side shuffled onto their feet. The loud flush of the toilet broke the relative silence of the room, and Harry halted abruptly when the door flew open to reveal a furious looking Malfoy.

“Out of the way, Potter,” Malfoy bit out as his slightly shiny grey eyes held Harry’s for a few charged seconds. No doubt the result of being sick just moments ago, his face was flushed a blotchy red over an unusually pale complexion, even for him. His expression was pinched and tired looking, his eyes sitting just that tiny bit deeper over dark patches of paper thin skin.

Flashbacks to another time and place assailed Harry at the sight; a time when he’d come across Malfoy, looking just as pale and frail, in a bathroom not that unlike the one they were currently in. He managed to halt the images before they could play out the nothing short of sinister results of his instinctive reaction. It made cold guilt curl anew in his stomach, and Harry swallowed heavily as he reached out for Malfoy, not really in control of the movement.

“Hey, are you sure you’re okay?” he said, his voice much softer than even he’d expected.

Malfoy quickly side-stepped his hand and sneered as he walked sideways towards the sinks behind Harry, keeping them facing each other all the way just like their training had told them to do when confronted with potentially harmful situations. Harry’s eyes fell to Malfoy’s hand then, seeing his wand tremble slightly where it pointed at him.

“Just fuck off, would you, Potter? You’ve done quite enough already!”

Malfoy’s eyes had taken on a wild quality, like that of a cornered beast, and his words stung more than they should be allowed. Harry took a quick step back as he felt his face fall into a scowl. So what if Malfoy looked like death warmed up? So what if he was being sick? He could go on and expel his intestines through his mouth, for all Harry cared.

“You know, Malfoy, if it’s all the same to you, I think I just might,” he said in as much of a disinterested tone as he could manage, and in a repeat of the incident in his office, left without a backwards glance.

 

\--o--

 

If Harry had been the one in charge, that would have been the last of his weird encounters with Malfoy. Sadly, though, it seemed he had no influence on how things went when it came to the blond prat.

That following Friday, Harry received an owl just before lunch, summoning him post haste to St. Mungo’s maternity ward. Instant fear lodged a heavy lump inside his throat as he grabbed his cloak from the back of his chair and rushed to his Floo. All sorts of horrifying scenarios involving Hermione, who was nearly five months pregnant, flashed through his mind in the short time it took him to rush his way up to the ward and lean over the receptionist’s desk.

“Where is she?” he panted, the panic rising in his chest and making him shake a little.

“Name?” asked the smiling middle-aged woman manning the reception, before looking down and leafing through a thick stack of parchment.

“Hermione Granger-Weasley.” Harry swallowed around the lump, or at least tried to.

The nurse looked up from her parchments, her smile turning hesitant. “I’m sorry, there’s no patient here by that name.”

“But I was called here urgently!” he hissed to keep himself from shouting, and noticed the pregnant young woman seated in the corner glance at him above her magazine. His palms were beginning to sweat.

“And what’s _your_ name, young man?” The nurse’s smile was back in full force again, exuding patience as she lifted her hands to weave her fingers together.

Harry, still feeling his heartbeat in his throat, glanced around before leaning forward to whisper, “Harry Potter.”

The nurse’s reaction was a mere blink of her kind, blue eyes as she nodded once. “Welcome, Mr. Potter. They’re waiting for you in room 726,” she smiled and pointed to the corridor on Harry’s left.

Opening and closing his mouth stupidly, Harry stared at the nurse before slowly straightening and casting a glance down the corridor. Finding no answers to the sudden questions in his head, he turned back at the nurse again, who’d gone back to her parchments. “Who is?”

To his astonishment, the nurse giggled. “A big surprise, I reckon,” she beamed at him, her smile all teeth. 

“O-okay,” he trailed off, backing away slowly when the nurse made shooing motions with her hands, and moved toward the corridor she’d indicated. His steps weren’t hurried anymore, now that he wasn’t scared for the life of one of his best friends and her baby, but rather anxious about what was awaiting him.

He had nearly rounded the corner and left the waiting area when the nurse called out behind him, “Oh, and nice going, Mr. Potter!”

Harry turned to see the woman hold both of her thumbs aloft, level with her face, visible just above the desk top. Smiling and nodding placatingly in return, Harry turned quickly to trudge down the long, brightly lit corridor with doors lining both sides.

To say he was confused was only the start of it. What would the maternity ward want with him? It wasn’t like he’d slept with any women since his breakup with Ginny, and he would have certainly remembered if he’d made any sperm donations recently… Which he never had, of course. He guessed it wasn’t impossible for some crazy person to magically harvest his little swimmers from a piece of his bedding or something after he’d had a wank, but the idea seemed far-fetched even to him and he’d yet to stop being amazed at the possibilities of magic. Besides, he couldn’t recall missing any sheets lately.

Reaching the door that read “726” in swirly brass numbering, he knocked hesitantly and stood back a step, not sure what to expect while his nerves began to make themselves known.

The handle rattled briefly before the door opened and swung inward, revealing a tall, dark-haired man wearing the distinct lime green robes of the Healers and black framed glasses, not unlike Harry’s own stylishly rectangular pair.

“Mr. Potter, how good of you to join us! I’m Healer Clemens,” the man smiled, reaching out to shake Harry’s hand. “So sorry about the short notice, but your presence is of the utmost importance. I assume Mr. Malfoy needs no introduction?” Healer Clemens stepped back to allow Harry entrance into the room, and gestured behind him.

Harry’s eyes riveted to the person sitting, looking morose, on the bed that had been hidden just behind the door. His hand stilled in the Healer’s grip and his jaw went a bit slack as he paused just inside the doorway. “I… What is this?” His eyes left Malfoy’s hunched shoulders to look at the Healer in confusion.

The Healer smiled patiently, just like the nurse at the desk had done, and gestured to a chair stood beside the bed where Malfoy was sitting, staring at his lap. “Why don’t you have a seat, Mr. Potter. We’ve quite the news for you, so better safe than sorry.” Healer Clemens had the audacity to wink.

Dread filled him once more, and Harry could barely do more than follow the hands guiding him into one of the chairs. He looked from Malfoy to the lime robed Healer, and back again, hoping one of them would explain that the hell was going on already. Deciding to voice his thoughts, Harry demanded just that.

“Would someone tell me what the hell is going on?”

“Your distress is understandable, Mr. Potter, but please try to stay calm. This is the maternity ward, after all, and I would ask you to keep you temper in check, if for nothing else than out of respect for the delicacy of my patients.” Healer Clemens lifted a dark eyebrow, and Harry closed his mouth and sunk back heavily in his seat, feeling suitably admonished.

“When Mr. Malfoy sought help here at St. Mungo’s, I’m sure none of us, him least of all, expected him to end up in my care,” Healer Clemens smiled again as he leaned back against the edge of his desk and folded his hands after a small gesture in Malfoy’s direction.

Malfoy had yet to say a word, or even acknowledge that Harry was in the room, and Harry narrowed his eyes at the git as he studied his profile from his seat next to the slightly more elevated bed.

“It would seem something quite unique has transpired; something previously unheard of, even. I must say, I’m most flattered to be the one to care for Mr. Malfoy in his delicate state.”

Harry looked back to the Healer, finding the sparkle in his brown eyes oddly reminiscent of how Dumbledore’s would twinkle when he had a secret. At that particular moment, Harry wasn’t sure whether he liked the similarity or not.

“Now, Mr. Potter, would you say it has been a month or so since you and Mr. Malfoy had intercourse?”

Somehow managing to choke on his breath, Harry sputtered and coughed to clear his throat. “ _What_?”

“I know it may seem like an invasive question, but again: it is very important that you answer to the best of your ability so that we can rule out any misdiagnosis.” The Healer paused for a moment as if allowing Harry to consider his words, before tilting his head slightly. “So, about a month?”

Looking back at Malfoy, Harry found no help in the blonde, since he still hadn't looked up from his hands, twisting them in his lap. "I guess, yeah..." Harry replied, his lips going a little numb. Or maybe that was just the rush of all the blood leaving his head and falling into the pit of his stomach. "What does that have to do with anything?" He turned back to focus on the Healer.

Healer Clemens chuckled and brandished his wand. He performed a complicated series of motions, none of which Harry had seen before, while muttering under his breath. A few puffs of blue smoke appeared in the air in front of Harry’s face, and he lifted his eyes back to the Healer to see his smile deepen.

"Everything, my boy. It has absolutely everything to do with it." At Harry's meaningful glare, he continued quickly. "You see, Mr. Malfoy here is pregnant, and you seem to be the father."

And just like that, Malfoy’s words from their run-in in the bathroom came back to him and made sudden, terrifying sense; ‘ _You’ve done quite enough already_ ’.

Inexplicable laughter suddenly bubbled in his throat, and Harry was helpless to stave a soft snort. He pinched his lips together in an effort to hold it back, his eyes widening as he felt the bubbles rise to a boil. He looked between the Healer and Malfoy once more.

Malfoy had finally lifted his head, and was giving him an incredulous, yet murderous look. He looked so perfectly affronted, sitting there on a bed in the maternity ward, still wearing his red Auror robes, that Harry spurted loudly as his lips lost the battle of holding his laughter back. A few chuckles escaped him before he once more rolled his lips in between his teeth and bit down hard, lifting a hand to cover his mouth. He switched to looking at the Healer to keep from laughing, feeling himself grow red in the face from the effort, tears of mirth blurring his vision. It was useless, however, as the Healer’s words kept repeating in his head, stoking his laughter every time he thought about it. The resulting sound was somewhere between a mix of the whimpers of a dog and giggling.

“Can you tell him to bloody stop?!” Malfoy’s shouted at the Healer just as Harry’s sob-like noises rose an octave. The way the Healer pursed his lips looked like Hermione when she was making a decision whether to dislike something or not.

The look made Harry finally take a deep breath, trying to calm down enough to sit up and wipe at the corners of his eyes underneath his glasses. By then, Malfoy and the Healer were both looking at him with varying degrees of disapproval.

"Mr. Potter, I would hope you'd take this news a bit more seriously. This is, after all, the first case of male pregnancy I’ve ever heard of, much less encountered."

"Are you sure?" Harry asked, feeling a headache start to stir when his laughter fell away completely. He was just hearing things surely. Malfoy wasn’t possibly pregnant. _Pregnant_ , for Merlin’s sake. The concept wasn’t just unreal. It was insanity. Pure insanity. Good thing they were already at St. Mungo’s. It looked like the Mind Healers at Janus Thickey would be gaining at least two new patients before noon.

"Of course, he's sure, dimwit," Malfoy sighed before turning to the Healer and lifting his hand at Harry as if he’d just proved a point. “See, I told you he’s too dumb for this…”

“And you're telling me this has never happened before, magic or no magic,” Harry went on as if Malfoy hadn’t spoken. “Ever.”

Healer Clemens nodded. “Ever.”

Harry looked back to Malfoy again, feeling suddenly a little out of breath as his head began to swim. “Wow,” he said, because, honestly, what could someone say when they’d just been told they’d impregnated a man for the first time since the beginning of time? “How did I manage that?”

Malfoy’s nose wrinkled. “Oh, get over yourself, Potter. You may still be standing after several attempts at your life, but don’t fool yourself into thinking this is about you. If it was up to me, you wouldn’t even be here right now, but it’s not like I had a choice in the matter.” The last part was directed at Healer Clemens, accompanied by a glare he could call his very own.

“Quite right,” Healer Clemens nodded, pushing his glasses up his nose with a finger, and continued before Harry had a chance to say that he’d actually quite gladly be anywhere else but there. “I insisted the potential father… well, potential _second_ father be called here so we could perform additional tests –”

“Wait, what if there are more ‘potential second fathers´?” Harry broke in, suddenly hopeful this had all just been a huge mistake.

“Are you calling me a slag?!” Malfoy gasped, jumping off the bed and turning on Harry where he sat so that he had to look up as Malfoy approached quickly.

“Mr. Malfoy, please!” Healer Clemens was in between them in a heartbeat, gripping Malfoy gently by his shoulders and moving him slowly back a few steps. “You cannot, under any circumstances, get into physical fights in your condition! In fact, I’m owling your employer right after we part today for them to give you time off for the time being.”

“Off?! But I can’t stay home for eight months! I’ll go insane!” Malfoy turned his temper on the Healer then. Harry snorted from his chair, earning him quick a death glare.

“If not an extended leave, then at the very least, purely non-stressful, absolutely no-danger desk work for the remainder of your pregnancy.” Healer Clemens’ voice was as stern as Harry thought it probably went as he stepped further in between them and blocked Harry’s view of Malfoy entirely. Still, he peeked past a green robed arm to see Malfoy’s face go a darker red than he’d seen in a long time. About a month and a week ago, come to think of it.

Clearing his throat, he sat back again and focused on a spot under the Healer’s desk. It was impressively free of dust and blessedly absent of any images of Malfoy panting and moaning underneath him, the soft skin above his top lip beaded with perspiration.

Thinking back to how the event that led them to where they were currently sitting in the St. Mungo’s maternity ward, learning that they were going to be parents, caused a sudden sobriety. Add to that the fact that neither Healer Clemens nor Malfoy seemed to question whether Malfoy was having the baby or not, somehow having come to a decision without him having a say. Maybe they’d already decided before he showed up.

Harry sighed, still staring under the desk, unseeing now. “I guess we’ve really done it this time, haven’t we, Malfoy? With the way we fight, we were bound to fuck it up royally at some point.”

The Healer glanced at him over his shoulder. “Actually, Mr. Potter, we’ve found nothing out of the ordinary with either of you.” At Malfoy’s pointed throat-clearing, the man hastened to add: “except, of course, the condition which Mr. Malfoy is in. But as far as knowing what made conception take place, your guess is as good as mine.”

“Was there any dark magic involved?” Harry asked, growing concerned that this all might have been intentionally aimed at either of them.

“No magic at all, from what we can tell, other than the standard trace left by a ‘normal’ conception, if you’ll excuse the term. All childbearing women carry a sort of magical residue, if you will, from the moment the egg becomes fertilized by the sperm, and Malfoy carries that same mark. We just have no idea how he came to suddenly have an egg to fertilize.”

Two minutes later, they were stood in front of the Floos in the lobby downstairs; Malfoy with a scowl on his face and his red robe slung over his arm (because apparently, the hospital was too bloody warm to inhabit by anyone in their right mind and why couldn’t they just open a goddamn window in this place?), and Harry with one pamphlet reading “ _So, you think you’re ready to be a father?_ ” and another reading “ _Treat her like a goddess – a hands-on guide to making your lady feel appreciated during pregnancy_ ” on the front.

They were staring at the people in line ahead of them, and none of them had said a word to each other after leaving Healer Clemens’ in the examination room.

Until Malfoy opened his sneering mouth, that was.

“This is just like you, isn’t it, Potter?”

“What is?” Harry asked, dreading the answer and feeling his previous headache return.

“This whole thing.” Malfoy gestured vaguely around himself, not looking at him.

Since Harry didn’t usually make a habit of impregnating his male colleagues, he found himself at a loss as to what Malfoy’s bored accusations could mean. “Look, it’s been a long day, Malfoy, and it’s not even over yet. Just… What are you on about?”

“I’m just saying,” Malfoy shrugged, “I shouldn’t be surprised that _you_ would be involved in this unique, unprecedented incident, since you have a knack for being so bloody _special_ all the time.”

“Am I the pregnant one here?” Harry deadpanned, looking at Malfoy over the frame of his glasses.

Malfoy turned and stared at him for a moment. “Are you actually daft?”

“Then how is this _my_ fault?” Harry’s voice rose as he pointed at his own chest.

“It was your bloody sperm that did it,” Malfoy hissed, glancing around them and nodding politely at a couple who turned to look at them at Harry’s raised voice. “And keep your bloody voice down; I am _not_ about to let this be public knowledge. Besides, everything that ever goes wrong is somehow always your fault. Do try to keep up, Potter.”

Pursing his lips, Harry mulled over Malfoy’s earlier words. “I thought you told me to get over myself,” he said after a brief pause, crossing his arms over his chest. “And how do I know this isn’t just some elaborate plot to produce an heir to keep the Malfoy line alive?”

Malfoy sniffed, lifting his chin as well as his gaze to watch when the woman just ahead of him in line reached for a pinch of Floo powder. “It’s not.”

“And… what?” Harry lifted his hands out to his sides, his pamphlets crinkling in his grip as he leaned forward to trying to catch Malfoy’s eyes. “I’m supposed to just take your word for it?”

Taking his own pinch of powder on the mantle of the public Floo, Malfoy sneered as he looked back at him one more time before leaving. “You’ll just have to.”

 

\--o--

 

“None of you thought to use protection?” Hermione asked, her gaze sharp as she leaned further over Harry’s desk from where she was sitting in front of it.

Almost two months had passed since Harry had been at the maternity ward with Malfoy and Healer Clemens. Painful as it was to admit it, Malfoy had definitely been right regarding one thing: not one word about his condition was to reach public knowledge. At least not yet. So, after worrying about his future with only himself to mull it over with for weeks on end, Harry had finally turned to the one person he knew he could trust more than anyone, knowing she would look at the situation rationally. Ron, bless his heart, would have to be informed at a later date, since Harry couldn’t be sure he’d be able to keep quiet under pressure. So far, Hermione had helped ease his worry about the pregnancy all being some dark plot at revenge or anything to do with any ulterior motive regarding the Malfoy line.

“It’s not like I figured I’d get Malfoy up the duff, did I?” Harry sighed, swivelling back and forth in his chair while picking at a scratch in his desktop. It was a relief to finally be able to tell someone what had happened.

“Well, since you were raised Muggle, I would have hoped you’d at least thought of keeping yourself safe from the various diseases that are spread via sexual contact.” Harry cringed at hearing Hermione use the word “sexual” in regards to anything to do with him.

Or, come to think of it, just her using it at all.

“From what I’ve learned, though, that doesn’t apply to wizards,” he said instead.

“Harry…” Hermione tilted her head in that certain way that told him she was disappointed in him.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that! It’s not like we’d planned this! It’s not that hard to imagine I’d never considered the possibility of getting a man pregnant, let alone having angry office sex with Malfoy.” Harry felt himself blush a little. If he’d had a choice in the matter at all, Harry would have loved to just forget the whole thing had even happened.

But as irony would have it, he saw a lot more of Malfoy these days than he ever did while they were still fighting like bitter enemies. The difference between now and then, though, was that when they saw each other in the corridors of the Department, they didn’t fight; not anymore. In fact, they barely acknowledged each other. One good thing that came out of it was the fact that Malfoy had finally seemed to understand the concept of shutting up. Harry was just fine with that, to be honest.

Though, the silence also caused him to worry, quite inexplicably. One would think that Harry wouldn’t care at all about what Malfoy did or didn’t do with his own body and his own life. Yet for some reason, every time Harry saw him, his chest would constrict strangely, making his next breath a little more forced than the rest. It was almost as if he cared.

If his feelings regarded Malfoy as the carrier of his baby, or the baby itself, though, only Merlin knew.

Harry hadn’t realized that he’d drifted away in thought until Hermione spoke softly again. “You do realize you’re going to be a father, don’t you? Regardless of whether Malfoy wants you in this child’s life or not, you will have helped bring another person into this world, and that changes things.”

Sometimes Harry hated it when Hermione made such perfect sense. “I know,” he said quietly, glancing at her before quickly lowering his gaze to pick at the scratch once more. “I know.”

One thing he didn’t know, was if Malfoy would allow him to meet the baby after its birth. Another thing was whether he wanted to. This early on, he wasn’t sure about either.

As if reading his thoughts, Hermione continued. “You’ll just have to wait and see what happens.” Harry nodded solemnly and looked up when one of her hands reached over to cover his, and saw her give a tentative smile. “But congrats anyway, ‘dad’. I can’t wait to be an aunt.”

His heart did a little flip in his chest at ease of her acceptance and the mention of his soon-to-be status as a father. Harry gave a small smile in return, his spirit a tiny bit lighter.

 

\--o--

 

More time passed, quite uneventfully if compared to the shock of initially learning about Malfoy’s pregnancy. It made Harry restless, and so he had started to occupy himself to keep from worrying about the future too much. And what better way to stave a fear of the future than to prepare for it the best he could?

He’d begun taking a special breathing class (Muggle ones, just in case) to be sure he knew what to do _should_ Malfoy for any reason decide Harry needed to be there during the delivery. Before going to bed each night for a month, he’d read a few pages in “ _What to expect when you’re expecting_ ”.

He’d even bought a small teddy bear wearing a top hat that he’d seen in a shop window one day. It had been a silly impulse, and he swore a bit at himself when he got home, knowing Malfoy would probably only curl his lip at it and discard it as cheap, low-quality trash not fit for any child of his if presented with it. The hat-wearing bear had been sitting on Harry’s dresser, hidden from view behind a pile of unsorted jumpers, ever since. And yet, somewhere deep inside, he felt hopeful, but for what, he still hadn’t figured out.

Weeks became months, and months became trimesters. Still, nothing changed about the way Harry and Malfoy would interact. If one could call totally ignoring a form of interaction at all, that was.

There was an anecdote about a boiling frog often used to describe noticeable changes to the world around you: a frog dropped into boiling water would react in an instant and make its escape from death by jumping for freedom. A frog placed in cold water, however, which gradually rose in temperature so slowly that the animal didn’t notice the changes, would eventually boil.

Such was the case of how Harry came to notice the changes in Malfoy’s appearance. Though, perhaps not quite as dramatically as boiling to death.

They weren’t noticeable enough to make him react while still seeing Malfoy every day at work. But when he came back from a three week international mission in Bulgaria, they were enough to make Harry pause in the doorway to his office, on his way to report to Robards, when Malfoy walked past in the corridor outside.

The first thing he noticed was that one thing in particular seemed to be missing.

One would think that after close to seven months of childbearing, any sort of body, female or male regardless, would start to show signs of said pregnancy. Most prominently so in the form of an enlarged belly.

But no such belly could be seen on Malfoy as he sauntered past Harry’s door. Harry frowned in thought; a Disillusionment perhaps.

Well… “Sauntered” might have been what he would have done a few months ago. Now, however, his gait had become more of a waddle. It looked quite funny, actually, and Harry found himself grinning at the sight as Malfoy walked away down the long corridor. He was moving as if he was carrying a hundred extra pounds. Just on his front.

The third change that Harry had noticed was that Malfoy’s face seemed fuller these days, his cheeks just a touch rounder than usual, and it made him appear… soft. Not that Harry would ever dare say that out loud out of fear of being castrated. But in the privacy of his own mind, he allowed himself to admit that it suited Malfoy to fill out a bit. It made him seem less sharp and more… approachable.

It would seem that, like magnets were pulled to one another by an invisible force, so would Harry run into Malfoy again before the day was over.

The office had begun to empty as the clock neared five, and Harry was as eager as any of his colleagues to get out of there; especially since he’d been gone from home for a few weeks. He could practically hear his bed calling from where he was making his way to the Apparition point on the corner outside the Ministry, transfiguring his robe to look like an ordinary coat.

He was standing in the queue for the mock telephone booth, waiting for his turn to make his way home, when he looked up to see Malfoy, wearing a coat similar to Harry’s, walk past the line of Ministry employees and continue down the street. He steered a bit to the right after a few steps, and it looked almost like he was heading for the stairs to the London underground. That was, until he actually began to descend said stairs.

Harry blinked. Glancing around to see if anyone else had noticed Malfoy willingly entering a Muggle-filled area, Harry found no one looking particularly shocked. But his curiosity was piqued. There wasn’t much that would hold Harry back when he became curious about something.

Stepping out of the queue, Harry quickly made his way to the stairs and ran down them as fast as he could without drawing too much attention to himself. Malfoy couldn’t have gotten far with the slow, measured way he made his way forward. Just as Harry passed the ticket controls with a local Confundus cast around the crowded entrance hall, he spotted Malfoy up ahead, holding onto the railing of the short stairs going down to the platform.

Covering the short distance at a jog, Harry finally caught up to Malfoy in the flurry of people rushing past them on their way home. “Hey, Malfoy!” he said, leaning forward to try and catch his attention.

Malfoy looked at him by way of only moving his eyes before focusing back on making his way down one step at a time. “What are you doing following me, Potter?”

“I wasn’t following you,” Harry replied, feeling a bit stupid for running after Malfoy, now that he’d caught up with him. “I was just wondering why you’d visit the Muggle underground willingly. It seems a bit beneath you, doesn’t it?”

They’d reached the bottom of the stairs now, and was entering a small tunnel that lead off to the left and onward to the eastbound platform.

“Can’t Floo.”

The short answer made perfect sense without further explanation, even to Harry, who could be a little slow on the uptake sometimes. The Floo would toss Malfoy around too much. “What about Apparition? Or a taxi?”

Shuffling along the wall of the platform, Malfoy walked a few paces more to where the crowd wasn’t so thick. “I take the tube.”

“As in the smelly, grimy, crowded trains transporting thousands of Muggles a day around London. That tube,” Harry said, not bothering to make it a question.

Malfoy gestured at their surroundings. “So, you’re blind even with those stupid glasses on? What does it look like to you?”

Harry ignored the weak insult and chose instead to imagine Malfoy’s face morphed into a snooty expression while being forced to share close, personal space with hordes of Muggles on a cramped tube train. He chuckled.

Before Malfoy could comment on his laughter, Harry replied calmly. “I’m not blind. In fact, I seem to notice something missing from right about this vicinity.” He made a circular motion at Malfoy’s flat midsection.

Malfoy hushed him and looked around them quickly before turning to lean a little closer to murmur. “Not that it’s any of your business, but it’s a Glamour.”

Harry’s eyes dropped to his middle again. After focusing for a moment, he was indeed able to see a slight shimmer in the air just in front of Malfoy’s stomach.

“Very locally placed, of course,” Malfoy continued. “Healer Clemens advised me to use as little magic as possible before we know how the baby might react.”

His casual mention of the baby made Harry stop a bit short. They hadn’t even acknowledged each other in months, and here they were, for all intents and purposes, discussing this great big secret they shared as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Still, that underlying superiority was always present in Malfoy’s voice, but he wouldn’t be Malfoy if it wasn’t.

Malfoy shrugged when Harry didn’t immediately reply. “I had to, unless I wanted people to start suspecting.”

Harry lifted his gaze to Malfoy’s face again, his smile growing. “Or thinking you’d developed a passion for multiple course take-away curries or something.”

Malfoy returned his gaze while the roar of an approaching train rose quickly from one of the tunnels, the rush of air catching his hair and making it flutter into his eyes. “Or that.”

They held eye contact for a little longer than strictly necessary. The new softness to Malfoy’s face, and the unexpected ease with which they spoke, caused a weird flutter in Harry’s chest. Perhaps he’d even go as far as admitting that Malfoy had become just a little bit pretty.

The arrival of the train broke the fragile moment, as the movement of hundreds of bodies scurrying for a place on board began jolting them. Malfoy began pressing forward, holding his hands out in front of himself to create a barrier of sorts. Harry followed instinctively, moving to usher Malfoy gently by his shoulder and clearing a path as best he could.

They made it onto the train without incident, keeping to the end where there were small padded ledges that Malfoy could lean back against. Harry stood facing him, his feet wider apart and his hand holding on to the bar next to Malfoy’s shoulder to keep his balance. Bodies were pressing into his back and sides, and he glanced around the crowded cart to keep from staring awkwardly right at Malfoy’s face.

Malfoy, however, seemed to have no such qualms. He studied Harry silently for a minute before breaking the silence. “Again, Potter, why are you following me?”

Harry snorted. “I hate to break it to you, but it doesn’t exactly count as following if I’m not trying to hide the fact that I’m right here, and even talking to you.”

“Then what are you doing?” Malfoy’s voice was more curious than anything else, and it was another nice change to add to Harry’s growing list of things that were altering his view of Malfoy.

“Helping you home.”

“Do I look like a damsel in distress to you?”

Harry tilted his head as if considering the image. “Not exactly.” Malfoy’s eyes narrowed in silent warning. “But I happen to know what’s hiding under that Glamour and I want to make sure you – _it_ – stays safe.”

“ _It_ can make it home just fine on its own, thank you,” Malfoy replied with a bit more bite.

Only a second after, the doors opened at the next stop to let even more people on board. The crowds pressed even tighter against Harry’s back, and he took a step forward to keep from being elbowed. A tall, suited man with excessively gelled hair moved in closer to their side to make room, and Harry saw Malfoy’s eyes widen.

A hand grabbed onto the waist of his transfigured coat, pulling him forward until the toes of their shoes touched. Harry had to brace himself against the bar he was holding to keep from falling into Malfoy’s body as the train shook and jolted them while speeding through the dark tunnels. He looked down to see Malfoy’s fingers curled into the fabric, gripping it tight as if to keep him from moving away as he stared at the tall man beside them.

“Really?” he asked, a smug smile forming on his lips, referring to how Malfoy had declared his independence just a minute earlier. Reaching into his coat, Harry discreetly cast a Notice-Me-Not around them.

Grey eyes flitted to his. “I usually leave much earlier to avoid rush hour. I just had a bit of a back log to finish today.”

Harry took a moment to really study Malfoy’s face, suddenly noticing a hint of darkening circles under his eyes. “You’re not working too hard, are you? Remember what Healer Clemens said about–”

“Why do you suddenly care?” Malfoy’s eyes grew wary above a slowly rising redness in his cheeks. While the uncharacteristically neutral responses were a new thing to Harry, this unexpected insecurity was a bit disconcerting. It didn’t sit well with him at all.

Giving it a moment’s thought, Harry shrugged one shoulder as casually as he could. “I know you told me not to, but it’s sort of my duty to care, isn’t it?”

Malfoy’s gaze fell to where his hand was still holding onto Harry’s coat. “I can do this on my own,” he murmured.

“And what if I want to help?” Harry asked softly. “Will you let me?”

Keeping his eyes lowered, Malfoy mimicked him with a shrug of his own.

The train gave a sudden jolt as it veered into a curve, making everyone in the cart lurch a bit towards one side. Harry tightened his grip on the handlebar, but couldn’t stop himself from falling against Malfoy’s front anyway.

He gasped softly at the feeling of something solid yet yielding bumping right in the centre of his stomach. Looking quickly down to stare in wonder at seemingly empty space, he knew exactly what he’d felt. His heart gave another leap at the thought.

Lifting his other hand from where he’d braced it against the wall next to Malfoy’s head, Harry heard a sharp intake of breath and watched as a pale hand lifted to hold the invisible belly protectively. It made him pause and look up, finding Malfoy staring at him, his expression as unguarded as he’d ever seen it and his eyes openly reflecting a cautious vigilance.

“Can I...?” Harry murmured, his eyes flickering between Malfoy’s to try to read his reactions. His hand hovered between them, palm turned towards Malfoy. A few silent seconds passed where none of them moved other than unwillingly following the movements of the train. “Please?”

After what felt like eternity suspended in the silence between them, Malfoy gave a short nod. Harry lowered his gaze to rest between them again, seeing the hint of a shimmer every now and then as the train shook them. Watching his hand reach out, he only moved it forward a few more inches before coming into contact with that solidness again. It felt warm to the touch, and even though he couldn’t see it, Harry knew he was beginning to smile at finally getting to be this close to the life growing inside of Malfoy.

He looked up at Malfoy at the thought, feeling a sudden urge to loosen the top buttons of his shirt to allow himself a little more room to breathe. But there was barely any room to gain, anyway; not in the cramped space of a warm underground train during rush hour, and especially not when all the air seemed to be suddenly sucked out from in between them at the tentative hope reflected in Malfoy’s eyes.

Harry moved his thumb in a slow, sweeping motion over the invisible fabric stretching taught to cover Malfoy’s stomach, and it bumped into the side of Malfoy’s hand where it still rested just a bit lower. Encouraged by the look in Malfoy’s eyes, Harry moved quickly to hook his thumb over Malfoy’s index finger before he could pull away.

Malfoy blinked at him, and Harry held his breath while waiting to see what he’d do. But Malfoy allowed the contact, not moving his hand away from the touch. A giddy joy bloomed in Harry’s chest, and he knew his grin was growing goofy when Malfoy suddenly rolled his eyes. Harry laughed despite himself at the casual display of harmless exasperation.

“Thank you,” he whispered, and watched Malfoy look back at him with a tiny, yet clearly visible sparkle growing in his eyes. It reminded Harry of the silent challenge that had been in those same eyes the afternoon when they’d unknowingly sealed their fates for a good while onward.

“I want to get out of here,” Malfoy said, effectively changing the topic. “There’s only one stop left; I can walk the rest of the way.”

Whether he wanted Harry to come with him or not, he left unsaid. But as soon as the train slowed to a stop once more, he lifted his hand to tug at Harry’s wrist before he began making his way through the throng of bodies towards the door.

Making sure the path was clear again, Harry followed without a word. The smile on his face said enough for now.

 

\--o--

 

A regal bird with long, spindly legs and a sharp beak watched as two wizards made their way along the sidewalk after just exiting an underground station. She was perched on the roof of a parked lorry, unworried about being spotted in the hustle and bustle of tired workers and tourists with sore feet from a whole day of sight-seeing.

The Stork knew those wizards from before. When she had gotten back from her first day of work exactly six months and twenty-four days ago, she’d thought she’d done a brilliant job. She had gone with her gut instinct when making her decisions and had flown back home with her head held high in pride. But once she met with her elders, however, she had been informed of her mistake.

Luckily for the Stork, though, said mistake had affected two wizards, making the appearance of a baby in one of the men seem a little less remarkable than had they been of none-Wizarding kind. Since the two had been very quiet about the pregnancy as well, the elders had let the Stork get away with a stern warning, after she’d agreed to them using the incident as an example for young storks of what _not_ to do while carrying out their mission.

The elders had since asked the Stork to keep an eye on “her wizards”, as they’d come to term them; a task which she’d taken on with pride. Not that she would have been able to do much if things had started to veer off track. It was just a means of making sure everyone came out fairly unscathed at the end of the mess she had put them in.

So, she hadn’t been able to put everything to right. But while calmly regarding the two young men slowly walking away, hands brushing every now and then as they kept close together, the Stork knew that finally, they themselves had made it possible for a happy ending for everyone involved. Call it a feeling or a hunch, but the Stork just knew that a new sort of relationship would start to blossom between the two before the birth of their child. It was the same feeling she’d gotten all those months ago; the very same feeling that made her come to her fateful decision.

Somehow, The Stork knew that, in the end, everything was going to be alright.

 

–O–


End file.
